


I Felt the Strings

by WrandomWriter



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrandomWriter/pseuds/WrandomWriter
Summary: Nita Finly was a blind girl who found her passion. She lived life with a purpose until the end. Her friends she made along the way were by her side the whole of her short life. The story, told from her point of view, gives readers a look at how she felt during her life. This emotional story is fictional, but there are disabled people like Nita in the real world and they are very admirable. This story is dedicated to them.





	

Ever since I was little, my parents were there for me; by my side each and every night while I cried tears I would never see. I held my mother’s hand, I hugged my father tight, but I would never know what they looked like. I would never see what my older sister Brady looked like. I could never know whether someone was sad, happy, angry. I could never see.

I was born blind, premature by a month. It is a miracle that I survived. I grew up slowly walking and talking later than all of the other children my age. I lived in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania for my whole life and attended the Western Pennsylvania School for Blind Children for my education. It was a private charter school for children who were just like me. One of my professors, Mr. Travis, became my teacher my first year there but continued to be my friend up until I finished fifth grade. He was blind like me, but he knew who came into his classroom every time; like he could sense it. We had lunch together every day, and we talked about how we were doing and any tips and tricks for our conditions. Besides that, we talked like we could see eye to eye.

I had no friends besides Mr. Travis. My mother said I should talk to some of the other children, but I felt more comfortable by myself. Even though all of the other kids at school were blind, kids that lived in my neighborhood were very much not. I went to my neighborhood park most days after class was over, and kids would sneak up on me or push me to the ground. I have always been terrorized by everyone besides people at school or my family. 

My only way out of this crazy world is my violin. When I was little, my mother was making blueberry muffins with the radio playing I was seven and I couldn’t fully talk until I turned eight. Then I could communicate only with grunting noises. She had just put the muffins in the over; I heard the oven door slam shut. Then the radio station changed to a beautiful violin song. My mother changed the station but I said my first full words, “I liked that song.” My mother changed the song back and took my hands. I heard her say, in a teary voice, “You spoke honey!” Ever since that day, I was able to speak like any normal child, getting better as I went. Things were going great, and then my eighth birth day came along. It was just another day. I woke up and went to school. I had lunch with Mr. Travis and he gave me some homemade cupcakes his wife helped him make. They were dreadfully sweet with too many sprinkles but I loved them more than anything else I had ever tasted in my life. He took the time to make them for me so I ate them up and said thank you as that was the proper thing to do.

I went home and my parents greeted me outside and up the sidewalk. They lead me to the living room and sat me down on our couch. I felt the leather cold on my hands. I then felt something being pushed into my hands. It felt like plastic; like a case. I moved my hands around the plastic case and found the buckles. I unlatched the case and opened it up. I moved my hands into the case and felt around; soft velvet touched my skin. I felt around until the soft velvet ended into a long staff, stick like thing. I picked it up and felt the horse hair finely stung in the bow. I smiled as I lifted the violin out of its case. Ever since I had heard the violin song, I had listened to instructional tapes about how to play the violin as wells as beautiful songs by a variety of artists. I hugged the violin and bow; I was so overjoyed. I put the violin and bow back into their case and ran with up the stairs, careful not to fall. I had taken this route every day of my life; I knew it like the back of my hand, that is if I had ever seen it before. I sat at my desk in my room and felt around for my computer. I opened it up and turned on my voice keyboard device. I pressed the button and said, “Please open my violin instruction tapes.” My computer automatically started playing the tapes. I grabbed my violin and started to practice. It came pretty easy at first because I had listened to those tapes maybe thirty times each.  
Every day since then, I practiced my violin after school, getting better and better as I went. One day, I was eating lunch with Mr. Travis, and I told him about my violin. He told me about this program at school called the WPSBC Orchestra. He told me that I should join and that he would come and listen to every show I played in. 

After school that day, I made my way to the Orchestra room and walked in. A woman’s voice said, “Hey there, my name is Mrs. Penelope. What is your name young lady?” I smiled in the direction of the voice and answered, “My name is Nita Finly, how do you do, mam?” I heard Mrs. Penelope get up from her chair and felt her take my hand and said, “I am wonderful. What can I do for you?” She led me to a chair that I assumed was facing her own desk. I sat down and when I was sure she sat down as well I began, “Well, I recently discovered my passion for the violin and I was wondering if I could join the orchestra.” After an unsettling pause, Mrs. Penelope answered, “Well…the violin is a very hard instrument to play. Are you sure you are up to the challenge?” I grinned at the direction of her voice and responded, “There is no challenge greater than the one I already suffer from.” There was silence then I felt Mrs. Penelope’s hand take mine and lead me back towards the door. Before I walked away, she told me, “Be here after school tomorrow for orchestra practice.” I made my way home; the short walk took me only about six minutes. I ran into the kitchen to tell my mother and father. I was overjoyed to have something more to look forward to every day.

For months I excelled in school and in the orchestra. We had had five shows so far, two for school and three at the Pittsburg Center for the Arts. After every show, Mr. Travis gave me a bouquet of flowers and said I did excellent. He would then have his wife take a picture of us. He would then say goodnight to me and leave. I was happy he came to my shows. It gave me great confidence that he was their; my best friend.

Things in my life were going wonderfully and I moved to play more complex pieces for orchestra. One day, I was on my way home from orchestra practice. My mother was driving me as we had to go shopping than day. I had turned ten years old the month prior and my mother was letting me sit in the front seat. I felt the air from the vents in the car blowing on my face and through my hair. The air was cold. I remember thinking about a piece I was doing for orchestra that was difficult but I loved the sound of it. I remember hearing the classical music station on the radio. I remember the impact of another car hitting my mom’s and the feeling of the air bag exploding before me.  
Everything was black, as it normally was. I wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive. I then did something I had never done before. I opened my eyes. My vision was still blackness. I wasn’t lying down, but I wasn’t standing up. I seemed to be just there; I wasn’t a physical being anymore. I was now sure I was dead. I was confused though because ever since I was really little my father had told me that in heaven all illness was gone and everything was happy; he said I would be able to see in heaven. I closed my eyes again. Once again, I tried to open them but they would open. I couldn’t move. Time seemed to stop and stayed that way for a long time.  
It felt like days had gone by. Nothing was anything. In my state of nothingness, I felt like I was falling suddenly. I then felt that I had landed.  
I stood up in the darkness. I then opened my eyes. I saw. I saw; I could see. I was in a strange building with beautifully colored windows. One had the image of an angel on them. I started to cry. I could see the world. I saw.  
I looked around. There rows of people in black dresses and suits. There were rows of odd chairs going up the room. I was in a church. My father told me about how he went to pray at a church when he was a boy. In the front of the rows of chairs, there sat a man and a woman. They were crying; the woman was in a wheel chair with bandages on her face and arms. I could only assume that was my mother and the man was my father. They looked amazing. I ran to my mother and hugged her. I pulled away to see that she didn’t hug me back. I said, “Mom? Mom, it’s me Nita.” She didn’t hear me, no one in the whole church seemed to notice me there. Was I dead? Was I at my funeral?  
I moved towards a small white coffin in the front of the church with pink ribbons decorating the outside of it. I loved pink; it was so pretty. My mother told me about how pink was the color of innocence and love. I could only assume this was the very color. I peered inside to see a young girl with very light hair of a color I did not know and closed eyes. She had a dress that was white; my mother had told me of this color when I asked her what the sky looked like and she told me about clouds. She had cuts all over her face and arms and neck. Was this me? My father walked up to the coffin and placed a small pink flower in the girl’s hair. When he started to sob, I knew it was me, dead. My father told me a man only cried if his family was in danger or dead. I looked back at the crowd in the chairs, tears appearing in my eyes.  
The doors of the church opened and three people entered and sat in the front row next to my parents. One woman with light hair sat down next to my mother. My mother greeted her as Sarah; that was Mrs. Penelope’s first name. The other woman who had dark skin hugged my mother and told her, “I drove Travis here. He refused to miss her funeral. They were best friends.” I then realized that the other man that entered was Mr. Travis and the woman was his wife. I cried even more. He was my best friend. I saw him walk up slowly to my coffin with something in his hands. It was a pink color once again but this time it looked strange like a case of some kind. He brought the case up and placed it in my pale hands. This brought wailing from my mother and sobbing from my father. He then reached around for my hand again and found it; he held it tight and said, “Nita, I brought you your violin. You left it at school the day you died,” he paused trying to collect himself and I moved up next to him as he continued, “You know, I knew that you thought the cupcakes were not good, but you still ate every last bite. That’s why I love you so much, you know. You are the kindest friend I could’ve asked for. I am going to miss you…so very much.” He then leaned down and kissed my forehead; his tears fell on my lifeless face. He turned to leave, but paused right next to where I was watching him speak. He turned and faced where I was and smiled. Could he see me?  
Under his breath, I heard him say, “I really do love you, Nita.” He then turned and slowly made his way to his seat again. I sat down next to him and place my pale hand on his hand. I might have been imaging things, but I could’ve sworn his hand gripped around where mine would be if I was actually alive sitting there next to him.  
I then watched as people said a few words in my behalf along with words from the priest who was there. I wondered what was going through people’s heads. After the ceremony was over, my coffin was carried out to the graveyard. Mr. Travis was going to be the one to carry the front left corner of my coffin along with my mother, father, and grandfather, but instead, his wife carried it while his hand rested at the head of the coffin as we walked. My dead body guided him through the fog of the morning.  
I watched as my coffin was lowered into my tiny grave. As dirt was being covered over my coffin Mr. Travis dropped to his knees. He started to cry. His wife helped him up and the funeral party made their way to a banquet in my honor. I didn’t move to follow.  
I waited until the grave was complete and stared at my grave stone. I didn’t know how to read what was written but I didn’t care. I closed my eyes.  
I felt the strings along my fingers. I felt the bow in my other hand, the horse hair brushing against my shoulder as I prepared to play a song I had practiced many times before. I felt my arm grow tired as the song came to a close. I felt the rush in my stomach as the crowd applauded for me. I felt my body bow to an invisible crowd that I knew I would never have the opportunity to see and thank. I felt the velvet in my violin case the first time I opened it to find the surprise within. I felt the wood of the instrument as I placed it away in its case for the last time. I felt the strings in my fingers, I felt the strings guide me in my world of nothingness. I felt the strings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story. This is probably one of the best ones I've written so far.


End file.
